


L

by mhunter10



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:46:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mhunter10/pseuds/mhunter10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The L is not just a train in Chicago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	L

Of all the letters in the alphabet, ‘l’ is one of the most complicated. Not that it’s hard to understand, but that it can be the start of some very difficult words…well, to some. Some may throw them around easily, not caring where they land, while others treat them like hot lava. They don’t even dare to touch them for fear of getting severely burned. Words like labor, loose, level, and laugh aren’t too hard to get. No, when it comes to the letter ‘l’, love and label can seem like the hardest words in the world.

 Mickey remembers girls passing him notes in class, giggling and squeaking annoyingly while he opened them. He’d glance at the handwriting and little hearts curling and looping as they asked if he ‘like-likes’ them or is ‘in love’- put a check in the box. Spelled out in front of him, he had no idea why the fuck anyone cared about liking people. And what the hell was love anyway? Nothing he’d ever seen. Not in his house, that is. Maybe he might have felt it when his mom was around and then his sister was born, but that kind of shit was a given, right? He’d quickly crumple the offending pieces of paper up and throw them on the floor, stomping out love with his boot. And he’d keep it under there where he could make sure it never got out. That is, until Ian Gallagher caught him with his boots off; only his soft, dirty hole-riddled socks left. After that day, it seemed Mickey could never keep himself grounded, and it wasn’t just because his legs were in the air half the time. It was almost like he had gotten swept off his feet; no longer in control of that word he’d tried so hard to keep down. Now it was free to tread all over him like a giant stepping on a flower.

And just when he thought he could maybe get the hang of love, Gallagher wanted to go and put a label with it. From what Mickey saw, the kid didn’t even know the first thing about love, so how the hell did he know that it was…whatever _this_ was? Where did he get off calling it out in others, when he hadn’t even said it himself?

 The truth was, Ian can tell you the name of the first person he liked…like _that_. It was a boy in his math class in middle school. He sat right in front of him and was always flipping his hair out of his face like he actually cared if he could or couldn’t see what was on the board. Ian sometimes dreaded going to that class because he would find himself staring when the guy was goofing off or laughing. He had a great laugh…sort of. And was that Old Spice? Definitely. But when he would turn around to hand him papers or ask to borrow a pencil he would never return, Ian would pop one so fast it was almost painful. He knew he liked him more than a…homework partner, but was staring at the back of his head as he held his books over his crotch love? Then he’d thought he knew what it sort of was like with Kash. At least, he could start to understand the concept a little more, the allure of it. But that all changed when Mickey Milkovich decided he could teach Ian a thing or two or eighty about love. It was awful and painful and intriguing and maddening. Ian didn’t know it could be all these things, but it was. Because it was real. To him, at least.

 And when they were at their most comfortable (drugged out or fucked out), he thought maybe they had a chance. They could work if they just let themselves. Ian didn’t really care what they called it, but he didn’t want to ignore it either. Mickey had other ideas, but couldn’t he just humor him a little? Would it be so bad to even just talk about it? They were so much more than dugouts and backrooms and hiding and fearing, so why was Mickey acting like acknowledging something good would take all the fun out of his already shitty life? He wasn’t afraid when it came to everything else, especially when he had his boots and his gun. From what Ian saw, maybe Mickey wasn’t capable of love, so why was he trying so hard to make that what _this_ was? So, he wouldn’t mention it again for a while. 


End file.
